The man hurried on through the street from which he
had emerged; and, passing by the house in which he
had taken up his lodging (he had arrived at Venice
the night before), a woman who stood by the door caught
his arm.

“Monsieur,” she said in French, “I
have been watching for your return. Do you understand
me? I will brave all, risk all, to go back with
you to France,—­to stand, through life or
in death, by my husband’s side!”

“Citoyenne, I promised your husband that, if
such your choice, I would hazard my own safety to
aid it. But think again! Your husband is
one of the faction which Robespierre’s eyes
have already marked; he cannot fly. All France
is become a prison to the ‘suspect.’
You do not endanger yourself by return. Frankly,
citoyenne, the fate you would share may be the guillotine.
I speak (as you know by his letter) as your husband
bade me.”

“Monsieur, I will return with you,” said
the woman, with a smile upon her pale face.

“And yet you deserted your husband in the fair
sunshine of the Revolution, to return to him amidst
its storms and thunder,” said the man, in a
tone half of wonder, half rebuke.

“Because my father’s days were doomed;
because he had no safety but in flight to a foreign
land; because he was old and penniless, and had none
but me to work for him; because my husband was not
then in danger, and my father was! He is
dead—­dead! My husband is in danger
now. The daughter’s duties are no more,—­the
wife’s return!”

“Be it so, citoyenne; on the third night I depart.
Before then you may retract your choice.”

CHAPTER 6.V.

The casement stood open, and Viola was seated by it.
Beneath sparkled the broad waters in the cold but
cloudless sunlight; and to that fair form, that half-averted
face, turned the eyes of many a gallant cavalier,
as their gondolas glided by.

But at last, in the centre of the canal, one of these
dark vessels halted motionless, as a man fixed his
gaze from its lattice upon that stately palace.
He gave the word to the rowers,—­the vessel
approached the marge. The stranger quitted the
gondola; he passed up the broad stairs; he entered
the palace. Weep on, smile no more, young mother!—­the
last page is turned!